


Bucky the Elf's Christmas Feast

by dumbhuman



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Elf Callum (The Dragon Prince), Established Relationship, Holidays, M/M, covid mention, they really are all incredibly stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbhuman/pseuds/dumbhuman
Summary: Chris wants Buck to make him candy spaghetti from Elf. Eddie has little faith. When he looks past his stubbornness, Buck doesn't really blame him.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83
Collections: Buddie Discord Secret Elf 2020





	Bucky the Elf's Christmas Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [R_E_R6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_E_R6/gifts).



> Bobbob! I don't think this will quite become a tradition for them (at least I hope Chris grows out of it), but I hope this fits that holiday mood that you're looking for. Happy Holidays!

They’re about a third of the way into _Polar Express_ when Chris yawns and nudges Buck’s arm with his socked foot. For his part, Buck is proud of himself for not jumping a mile in the air - he’d thought Chris had fallen asleep despite Tom Hanks’ boisterous shouts about the greatness of hot chocolate. 

Apparently not.

“Bucky, can you make me breakfast spaghetti tomorrow?”

Buck wrinkles his nose in confusion, catching Eddie’s eye roll from where he’s sprawled across the armchair in the corner, his limbs poking out from the throw draped across him. More of the blanket slips off as he stretches to pause the movie and turns to face his son.

“Chris, we tried that last year, remember?” Eddie’s got his Dad Voice on. “All of that sugar made you sick.”

Sugar? Buck blinks before it clicks, an image of candy-topped pasta flashing across his mind. They’d finished _Elf_ maybe half an hour ago - is his memory really that unreliable already?

Movement from the other end of the couch draws Buck’s gaze back to Chris, who’s pulled himself into a seated position, arms crossed as he directs an eyeroll of his own toward his dad. 

“Yeah, dad, _you_ tried to make it last year. _Buck’s_ here this time - he can _cook_.”

Buck’s jaw drops for a split second before he clamps it shut, using everything in his power not to let out the laugh trapped behind his lips. He starts to turn toward the wall to collect himself, but he’s stopped short when Eddie’s face comes back into view. He’s hunched in his chair, the blanket still clinging desperately to one shoulder, and the petulant pout of his lips unlocks something in Buck - he can’t _not_ poke the bear.

“I mean, Chris _does_ have a point,” Buck doesn’t even try to school his features into anything resembling innocence as Eddie’s eyes flash dangerously at him. “Any cooking experiment really does need to start with someone who doesn’t burn water.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME!” Eddie throws his hands in the air before flopping back into the chair, the lights from the tree dancing across his skin as he moves. Buck knows it was a cheap shot, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t leap at the opportunity to take it. 

Buck bites his lip again, chancing a sidelong glance at Chris who also seems seconds away from bursting out into giggles at his dad’s expense. Eddie squints back and forth at them, suspiciously, obviously frustrated at the two against one scenario, before his calculating gaze morphs into something terrifyingly smug.

Buck knows that look, and he _knows_ it means trouble. Based on the way Chris’s hand shot out to cling to Buck’s calf, they both know they’re probably not going to come out on top here.

“Y’know what?” Chris’s hand squeezes around his leg. “I changed my mind. Do what you want - breakfast candy spaghetti? Sure.”

Chris glances over at Buck with hope in his eyes, dampened a bit by the furrow in his brow. _This is too easy_.

Eddie stands up from the chair, stretching his arms toward the sky until a pop reverberates around the room. He turns back to fold up the blanket as he continues. “Don’t come crying to me when you spend your Christmas Eve with a stomach ache again.”

He leaves the blanket draped over the back of the chair as he walks across the living room, both Chris’ and Buck’s heads turning to follow him. “And Buck, best of luck trying to make sugary pasta edible.” 

Eddie darts behind the couch and drops a kiss on Chris’s head. “I love you both. I’ve said my piece.” He takes a step before pressing a matching kiss into Buck’s hair before pulling back and finishing his trek to his bedroom. When he reaches the door, he turns back to look at the couch with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You want to make the same mistake twice? Be my guest.” 

Buck waits until the door’s closed before looking back at Chris, expecting to find that Eddie’s warnings have taken hold. Instead, he’s met with a steely gaze punctuated by a sharp nod. 

“Challenge accepted.”

\--

This is not how Buck expected to spend the night before Christmas Eve. He’s at home with his boys, in bed with Eddie, but the festive, relaxed atmosphere that he had pictured is nowhere to be found.

Instead, he is sitting against the headboard, hunched over his laptop, scrolling through Pinterest recipes. 

Calling them _recipes_ is a stretch, honestly. Reading through multiple essays about the authors’ families and why _real_ maple syrup is a must and whether or not they like Will Ferrel in any other roles is not worth the lackluster steps of “cook spaghetti and drown it in candy and syrup”. 

God, some of the pasta looks _gray_. 

Buck bites his lip and looks over at Eddie’s sleeping form. His stupid boyfriend is definitely right here, but this house is a constant competition of stubbornness. Competitiveness trumps logic every time. How they’ve managed to exist as a unit relatively unscathed throughout 2020 is a fucking miracle. Boredom had led them all to make a _lot_ of questionable decisions.

Well, they weren’t all _bad_ decisions. Some of those decisions got them here, with Buck in Eddie’s bed instead of taking up residence on his couch. The silver lining that’s done a lot toward balancing out this otherwise awful year. 

Buck turns back to the screen, slipping his earbuds in as he clicks on a video. A perky woman’s voice fills his ears, and she intros the video with a clip from the film and a reminder that this whole thing is based on a balanced diet of sugar, sugar, and more sugar. Buck’s eyes widen as the dish is constructed before his eyes - that’s gotta be like a third of a bottle of chocolate syrup on that spaghetti. Which was already tossed in butter. And sugar. 

His stomach hurts just thinking about it. 

Wow, watching a man in an _Elf_ onesie eat it with his hands isn’t really helping. 

Buck closes his laptop and places it next to the bed. He’s not going to be able to make this into something that isn’t a mound of sugary carbs...but maybe he can give them an out? He curls up behind Eddie, wrapping an arm around his waist, and falls asleep with the hopes that he’ll dream up a plan.

\--

Chris does not trust him to have a plan.

Buck doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t _really_ have a plan.

They’re both up early, Eddie still asleep. Which has become their normal over the past few months - breakfast has become Buck’s domain, and after some convincing, Eddie had reluctantly agreed that it was a waste of a perfectly good hour of sleep if they both got up to start prep for the day. 

Which is why Buck is the one standing in the doorway to Chris’s bathroom, face to face with his completely warranted lack of faith.

“Christopher, please tell me you did not take any of those already.”

Chris is standing at the sink, medicine cabinet open and a bottle of Pepto Kids Chewable Tablets on the counter in front of him.

“Not yet, Bucky. I can’t get it open.”

Thank god for child proofing.

“But they say ‘upset stomach’ right on the bottle. And i don’t want to throw up like last time.”

Buck takes a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face before stepping further into the bathroom. He picks up the bottle and puts it back on the shelf, closing the cabinet door before turning to the kid next to him. 

“Chris, you should know better than to ever take any kind of medicine before talking to a grownup first. I get your logic, and I know you’re smart enough to read instructions, but if you take it wrong, sometimes medicine can make you sick. Plus, taking it before won’t do anything - that’s not how it works.”

At least, Buck’s pretty sure that’s not how it works.

They make their way into the kitchen, Chris taking his seat at the table to face Buck, who’s starting to unpack the ingredients that he grabbed last night.

“I’m sad, Bucky. I want to eat a Christmas breakfast like Buddy, but I don’t want to get sick again.”

Buck puts the bottle of chocolate syrup in the fridge as Chris fiddles with Buck’s phone, putting on a holiday playlist. _White Christmas_ fills the room.

“Do you remember what happened last year? Was one of the ingredients too much? Maybe the sprinkles?” Buck shakes the jar of rainbow-colored sugar before placing it on the counter.

Chris shakes his head. “Nuh uh. I just got reeeeeally full and then threw up and then layed on the couch all day while Daddy rubbed my back.”

Buck stops fiddling with the burner and turns to face Chris.

“Christopher, how much Elf Spaghetti did your dad make last year?”

Chris walks over to the drying rack and picks up one of their clean cereal bows.

“Um, this much?”

Buck quirks an eyebrow - that is a _large_ portion.

“And how much of it did you eat?”

Chris grins. “All of it! It was yummy!”

Buck rolls his eyes, completely disarmed by child logic for the second time this morning. This all makes so much sense now.

“Ok Chris, here’s what we’re gonna do.” He eyeballs a single serving of spaghetti and tosses it in the boiling water - what are the odds that _he’d_ be the one to enforce moderation in this house? “I’m going to make the exact same food as your dad did last year, just...smaller. Kid size.”

Chris is thinking this plan over, but Buck can tell he’s not convinced.

“ _And_ , even more importantly, we’re gonna eat it _slowly_ this time.I know Buddy shoved it all in his mouth, and you can do that with the first bite for fun, but then we eat _slow_.”

Chris nods, but then pauses, his chin halfway to his chest. “We?”

Buck snorts. “Yeah, buddy. We’re gonna share, of course!” A contingency plan with a side of family bonding.

Chris shrugs as Buck turns off the heat and starts draining the pasta, standing up from the table and grabbing his crutches from their spot against the wall.

“I’m gonna go wake up dad then. He’ll be _so_ excited that we’re sharing!”

Buck bites his lip - oh, Eddie’s going to be _thrilled_.

He lines up all of the bowls on the table - M&Ms, maple syrup, marshmallows, sprinkles, the bottle of chocolate syrup - leaving space for the plate of spaghetti. Eddie and Chris emerge from the bedroom just as the toaster pops.

“Perfect timing.” Buck carries the chocolate Pop Tarts over to the table on a paper towel. “Breakfast is served.”

They settle around the table and go to town, piling the reasonably portioned toppings on the pasta plate. A drowsy Eddie artfully drops a few marshmallows on top.

“Bon appetit.”

As they all dig in - Chris the most enthusiastically, of course - Buck reluctantly realizes this isn’t half bad. At its core, it's just carbs and sugar, and who can say no to a little bit of that.

“See Dad - I told you Buck can cook.”

Eddie’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth, chocolate syrup dripping back down onto his plate.

“Chris, I didn’t _cook_ anything different. There’s just less of it.”

Eddie doesn’t chime in to add to his defense like Buck expects - instead, he puts his head in his hands.

Oh no.

“But Buck - we put the toppings on last. Last year, Daddy cooked everything together in a pan. The spaghetti was _crunchy_.”

There’s a beat of silence as Buck’s brain rushes to process and then they’re laughing, all three of them, giggles that won’t stop no matter how much they try. Each time they think they have it under control, someone goes off again and they’re right back at it. 

Just another Christmas Eve in a house full of ridiculous, stubborn boys.


End file.
